


Circumstances and Choices

by Shipper_trash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe: Dystopia, Astral Projection, Bad Alan Deaton, Canon Compliant, Death, Derek is 30, Derek is a True Alpha (he will be), Emotional Trauma, Except Monroe's arc, For reference, Fucked Up Morals, Gen, Going back in time, Humans vs Supernaturals, Kid to adult fic, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Nemeton using Paige as her body, OC death, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Rape, Scott wasn't meant to be a A True Alpha, The Hale Family, Time Travel, Violence, everyone in the pack is dead, it has been five years since Anu-Kite, literally only a handful of people are alive, mentions of kids being raped, we get to see them growing up, which means Stiles is 23
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipper_trash/pseuds/Shipper_trash
Summary: A self-indulgent Time-Travel Fic which explores an alive and magical Claudia, alive Hale Pack, coming together of the Pack we know, and Sterek's love traversing Time.(This is a WIP and I will try my best to update at least once a week. Bookmark this if you want to read this <3 Although I'm pretty sure it's way too early to call this fic complete.)
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 67





	1. The Future

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh!! So finally, the fic I've been 'fleshing out.' I have all the ideas, I know exactly (mostly) what is going to happen, but still, feel free to comment if you want something specific!! This is self-indulgent, but I wanna see what y'all took away from the show, too. 
> 
> Can't wait to share this with you!
> 
> Also remember, I will try to post once a week. <3

Their High School lives had been shit, but at least they'd come out alive, mostly. Stiles had figured after that, they were supposedly off the hook. They should have been, in the least. Fighting the Wild Hunt and a Nazi Were-Lion? Yeah, that screamed ' _break_!'

Unfortunately, their lives aren't that simple. 

First, it was his orientation. Watching your former-Alpha/Pack-mate/Crush running on the screen while being told that he is wanted by the Interpol for murder isn't something he'd thought he'd be watching on his first day, but lo and behold, this was his life and he had an idiot to save. 

Which he did. And no, Derek, he couldn't walk, his toe was shot! But he did save you, you ass! 

Anyways. The point is, Stiles' life never did go as expected, and he wasn't even that surprised when Monroe started her fanatic war in Beacon Hills with Gerard as her boss — the old geezer was alive, which in and of itself was something he struggled with, but when you have Derek by your side everything just felt easier — and that was the other weird thing. He'd been more surprised of the fact that Derek Hale likes him back, as in romantically, than he was of the new troubles his pack faced back home. 

He didn't get to explore it though. No. Instead, he got plunged into a War between humans and Supernaturals — okay, yeah, he'd been wanting to know how the world will react to the existence of werewolves, Kanimas, Witches, Sorcerers, etcetera, but he didn't want to be a part of the Revolution — which wasn't even there to begin with. All that happened was one of the Werewoves killing a rogue hunter in retaliation, which got aired, and made the normal populace panic and blow up literally anyone in even the slightest contact with such creatures. 

Basically, it was a _mess_. 

The War escalated to a Worldwide scale soon after, and in under a year, majority of the Supernatural community were dead and it was like a dystopia, post-apocalyptic world come to reality. Beacon Hills became a refuge area for non-humans, and for those humans who understood that evil is in the doing, not in being something that people think just isn't supposed to exist. Although, Stiles was pretty pissed at the fact that none of the Beacon Hills residents did anything when he and his pack were fighting for their lives — or when they lost Erica, Boyd, Allison... 

Suffice to say, none of them will ever even think of defying Stiles Stilinski. Being a Spark has its perks, and having lived his life... Well. It's a terrifying combination. At least Derek finds it hot. 

Monroe's rampage didn't stop even after Gerard was killed by Kate. Her next mission was to kill the Were-Jaguar, which, hey. He was totally okay with that. But that meant more death, of more innocent people, because of course they were the bad guys and killing everyone in the cross-fire is kind of their motto. Which left, what, hardly 1 billion people on Earth? All of whom were targetting Beacon Hills next. 

Their refuge held for three years before everything went to shit, again. 

They all couldn't just stay inside, wrapped up in wards and protection. Unwillingly, there were missions — recon, rescue, attack — and while most of them were successful, they did lose people. They lost pack. First, it was Jackson and Ethan. The two of them had decided to go back to London, and never came back. 

Then it was Malia, Liam, Mason and Corey. The four were a lethal group, perfect for attacking the nearest bases of Monroe's people — and they did. They destroyed eleven of them — but luck is never on their side, is it? Honestly, Stiles would have thought the next deaths should have come sooner than a year after Jackson's and Ethan's deaths. And after that? Losing everyone else had been a waiting game. 

Except he'd never thought of the day everyone but only him, Lydia, Peter and Derek would be alive. Ambushed inside the Preserve, with no way out unless you wanted to fight more than a hundred rogue hunters, with nothing but fanatic ideologies instilled in their minds. Honestly, the only thing keeping them alive was the fact that none of the hunters were professional hunters. Monroe was out there, definitely, but even she had no real training. And Peter and Derek are Hales, they've grown up in this Preserve, they know their way. Lydia and him have the added benefit of sharp brains and their lives. 

“How far?” Lydia breaks the silence that had fallen over them, her breath coming up in puffs of air far too quick. She's wearing tattered jeans, a tank top that has seen better days and shoes that need their soles replaced. Her attire is a far-cry from what it used to be, but it also shows how their lives have changed. Especially her hair, which used to flow so freely when left open, and now rests in a way Lydia Martin never would have approved of merely four years ago. 

Peter attacks the one human who has managed to reach them; it doesn't take long, but Stiles glances back when he hears pained breathing from the oldest of their remaining pack. 

“Peter?” None of them stop; they can't. “Zombiewolf! Just a little longer. Come on,” he urges, trying to desperately keep the shining line on the ground in his vision. Derek, who is running right beside him, slows down, and the next moment he's holding hands with his uncle and dragging him along. Lydia is a little further back, but she has arrows and a bow to help her, and there aren't any more men nearby. 

“How long, Stiles?” She grits her teeth, and Stiles almost stops at the tightness of her voice. It's eerily similar to the way her voice becomes when she's about to scream, like he's heard too many times before. It's only his will to just reach the fucking tree that makes him go on. 

He already knows who is going to die. 

They dispatch off six people before they reach the Nemeton, the stump still the same as it has been the past years. Derek dumps his uncle on top of it, and there's a little part of Stiles — the one which never did forgive the man for killing his niece and biting Scott in the first place — that feels happy at being right. The rest of him, though, realises how much Peter Hale means to him. How much he's changed since he became non-feral or feral-like. His heart aches, knowing he's losing another one of his parent figure, another of his pack. That Derek is losing his last bit of family. 

There's no time for all that. Lydia makes sure to point that out. 

“Go…” Peter attempts to speak, his voice a harsh whisper. “Do it.”

“Peter…” Stiles replies. It's too much. But if he's successful, none of this would have happened. Peter will live. So will his pack. 

“I'll distract them.” Derek says and turns, his wolfy ears seemingly picking up the movements way before his or Lydia's could. Stiles kisses his Derek one last time before attempting the ritual. 

Lydia starts chanting her part of the spell, her voice still tight and tense, waiting to release the scream she has been holding back for some time now. This is no small feat; if a Banshee feels like screaming for someone, there's nothing that can stop her. But this is Lydia Martin, and she's special, and she can do what she wills. She held off screaming for Chris Argent once, holding off long enough for him to rain bullets on three hunters and save Jordan's life. She's doing the same now; they need to wait till the sacrificial part for Peter to die. 

It was going to be Derek. Peter was supposed to be on the lookout. Only three people can go back, or well, restart the timeline from the chosen moment of time. He, Lydia and Derek were going to be those three. But nothing ever goes to plan, does it? When he saw Peter dying, it wasn't even a choice. 

Stiles' voice booms with the power of his belief, shaking the very ground he stands on, and he closes his eyes, imagines. Imagines the time when his mother was alive, before the sickness — the fucking memory spell by Deaton — took hold, before everything started to change for the worse. He imagines his pack, from his closer than blood brother Scott to Theo, the reluctant ally. All of them have made mistakes, but in the end, his heart ached for all of them, his bonds broke by each of their deaths. Even Kira's, who he hasn't seen in years — not since she left to train with the SkinWalkers. She had come back to help with the Wild Hunt, but Stiles hadn't been there then, and she'd left before he got to say his goodbyes. 

They sacrifice Peter. Lydia screams, the sound deafening. They hear Derek's roar, his anguish and love, for the three of them. Then everything goes silent. He feels numb. 

It takes him a whole minute to realise he's not feeling nothing — he's feeling fine. Painless. The broken, dead bonds are not aching inside his ribs, making it difficult to breathe. When he turns to Lydia, he sees the same bewilderment mirrored in her features. A laugh escapes him, the first since all this started. The first genuine one. 

It's only when he hears a soft, “Stiles,” that he sees Derek is here, too. He's okay, too. And Peter. They're both okay. 

Stiles kisses Derek fiercely. Peter rolls his eyes, and Lydia looks at them fondly. 

And then they hear her. 

“Took you long enough.” Derek jumps apart at the voice; he recognises it. Stiles hazards a guess, and when he turns, he isn't disappointed. 

“Paige,” his boyfriend croaks out, eyes disbelieving. Peter turns guilty; Lydia studies the other girl carefully. Stiles looks at her, eyes hard. 

“They are the Nemeton.” He says. Paige — or, more accurately, the shape of her — nods. 

“Yes. The Spark is correct; We are the Nemeton who speak. Although, The True Alpha is also correct.” 

“True Alpha?” Peter asks, understandably confused. Stiles fights the urge to cry; he hasn't heard that term in so long. 

The Nemeton nod their head. It's Lydia who speaks, though. “If Deaton can do one bad thing for power, he can do more,” 

The Nemeton smiles. “The Banshee is indeed, very smart. The Druid took away the destiny of the deserving Hale Alpha and gave it to a kid.” 

Stiles clenches his fists. Peter flares his nose in anger. Lydia seems deep in thought. Derek tilts his head, confused. 

“I… I don't deserve to be a True Alpha,” he says, and Stiles wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Anything to make Derek see that yes, he deserves it!

Peter and Lydia very generously give him the space. The Nemeton takes the two away to another corner of the blue chambers; they're locked in a time-zone, he thinks. He isn't sure, but that is his best guess, considering he can see hunters and bullets mid-action. 

He cups Derek's face, tilts it softly until their gazes are locked. He lifts the Wolf's hands and presses it on his chest. “You do,” he says. 

Derek searches in his eyes for something; when he finds it, or doesn't, he replies, “How? Why?”

Stiles knows what his idiot of a boyfriend is thinking. “The fire was not your fault. Laura's death wasn't your fault. None of the deaths are your fault,” he enunciates each of his sentences by increasing his voice, little by little. “You, Derek Hale, are not the criminal. You are a victim. And by all rights, you should be so fucking weak, so very insane by now that you can't even get up in the mornings. But you're not. You,” he kisses Derek's forehead, caresses the way too long beard on his face, “Derek Hale, are strong. So strong, in mind, heart, soul, will, whatever you want to call it; you never give up. You might have made some mistakes, I mean, biting teenagers?” Derek huffs up a small laugh at that; Stiles kisses it before continuing, “What I am saying is, you are strong. You care. You are every bit the 'grows from the sheer force of his will and determination' as that cryptic Vet said. You might have not progressed from Beta to Alpha, but you have as a human. You built your life, again, from the pieces left of your previous one, Der. You do deserve to be a True Alpha. You deserve a second, third, fourth chance. More chances, all the chances,” 

“Only if you're by my side.” Derek says. Stiles smiles, because even though Derek doesn't address the rest of his awesome speech, he knows it's been ingrained in his head. 

Lydia, Peter and the Nemeton come back right that second. Lydia envelopes them both in a bone-crushing hug, surprising them, especially with the tears in her eyes. Peter joins them. When they part, Lydia speaks, and it breaks his heart as well as warms it. 

“That was a rousing speech. Derek should remember it, always.” Lydia announces, and he understands. He understands without her telling him, and so does Derek, if his feeble “Lydia…” is anything to go by. 

“I have made up my mind,” she says, eyes steely. Peter looks on in a mixture of pride and sympathy. “As a Banshee, the deaths I've seen, they've been... harder on me.” She explains, and Stiles holds her hand. “I've managed to carry on till now because I had a purpose. I didn't have a choice... we didn't. But now we do, and I...”

“Want to take the option of forgetting all of this, because you can't sit idle the amount of time in-between the disasters we want to stop,” Derek finishes for her. Lydia nods. Stiles lets his tears flow as he hugs his best friend tightly, muttering how much he loves her, he'll always love her. 

After a while, when they've all said their good-byes, Lydia turns to the Nemeton. Before she can open her mouth however, the Nemeton knows what she's going to ask, and they say, “Some bonds traverse time, some do not. No one can be certain of one's future, irrespective of their knowledge. Different choices and circumstances lead to different results, but it's not to say the other ones were not real.” 

Stiles has no clue as to what all that is about, but Lydia smiles, a small sad one, as if she'd expected as much. Peter finds meaning in it too, if his sigh is anything to go by. Derek and him intertwine their fingers amidst their confusion, and watch as Lydia marches towards a corner of the Time-Box. She disappears from view entirely. 

“You will meet her again.” The Nemeton says, and he has no idea what that means, either, but he nods. 

Finally, the Nemeton commences on what they were meant to be doing. Stiles hugs Peter and kisses Derek, because he's pretty sure his dad will kill his boyfriend if he finds his seven-year-old kid kissing a fourteen-year-old boy. 

His dad. He will get to see him again. He won't be the same man that Stiles had grown used to, but he'll be there. Alive. And so will Derek's whole family, if they do things right. 

_Fuck_. 

The gravity of their situation hits him just as blackness creeps into his vision, and he wishes to everything that he doesn't lose them again. He can't. 

He won't. 


	2. The Hales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> So, yeah, it hasn't been a whole week yet but this chapter was done so I thought, why not? It's not very long, and we do not meet all the Hales, but I think this fits and there's nothing more to add in this one.  
> So. Enjoy! <3 Lemme know if you like chapter.

The light against his closed eyelids is what wakes him up. He isn't too sure, though, that this isn't the afterlife. He doesn't remember much from the first time, so he couldn't really say. 

The smell is what gives it away. He's a hundred percent sure that his afterlife would not be peaceful enough to let him reunite with his family.

He breathes the air only a dozen times, wanting to never forget the smell, enamored with the actual smell of his home rather than the burnt flesh that had charred it later. He doesn't open his eyes; the bed dips, suddenly, but not much. 

“Cora?” he breathes, trying out the name. He hasn't uttered his niece's name since the Alpha Pack. 

“Why do you smell so sad, Uncle?” Cora asks, voice tinny and cute, like a child's should be. Nothing like the angry teenager he'd met back then. “Der-Bear also smells like that, but his room is locked,” he could hear the pout in her voice. Oh, how he'd missed this. “I can't go in.” 

He opens his eyes, finally, and looks down at his niece. He knows tears were welling up in his eyes, but he could care less about that. The only thing he truly cares about is hugging the little girl close and scenting her, tickling her as she laughs and laughs, the sound like music to his ears. 

They only stop at the smell of Derek coming from the door to Peter's room — the teenager stands there, mouth curled up in a smile, eyes shining. 

Obviously he remembers, too. Peter grieves the loss of Lydia — despite their rocky start, they had grown close. While the relationship between them couldn't be called _close_ , not exactly, it held meaning far beyond enemies to friends —for a moment, but cheers internally at the fact that he'll meet her again. The Nemeton had said so; he could hazard a guess. He only hopes that the pain of being a Messenger of Death will not cause her the pain she wanted to avoid when the time does come for her to meet them once again. 

Derek joins the tickle-war, siding with his sister and trying in vain to defeat him. Grief and guilt lingers in the teenager's scent, as does in his own, and while Stiles had told his nephew it wasn't his fault, he couldn't help but feel like it was. If Derek hadn't been a fool, Kate would never have burned their family alive; He never would have gone feral and killed Laura. But then, this all started way before that, right? Even before Paige. And _that_ was his fault. 

Peter's ears pick up the heartbeats of five people in the house; other than the three of them, he can hear Nathaniel, his brother-in-law, humming as he makes dinner. He can hear Lauren, his dear twin, laughing as she recognises the tune. It is from Mission Impossible. Peter smiles in amusement; he's missed this. Even the heartbeats of his two other nephews harassing their father into letting them play before doing homework makes him chuckle. He knows Derek can hear it too, even though he is trying his best to focus on one person at a time.

He decides to do the same. But not right now. They need a plan, a course of action. He feels positively giddy at the fact that each and every room in this house is spelled, allowing the rooms to be soundproofed with just a thought. His mother's Emissary had done it when this house was built. 

“Alright, alright. I announce this great War to an end,” he announces, and is met with a sad and puppy-looking little girl. Manipulative little girl. It won't deter him, though. He's seen the look on Scott McCall's face one too many times when he promised to be truly gentlemanly with Malia. “No, none of that young lady. Have you finished your homework?” Cora's eyes widen, but she schools her features just as soon. If Peter hadn't been forced into hyper-vigiliance the past few years, he would not have caught it. As it is... “Go on then. I expect to see it before dinner.”

“Okay,” Cora hangs her head, jumps down from Derek's lap, and drags her feet out of his door. His nephew closes the door after her, kissing her head and ruffling her boy-cut hair, and sighs.

“So, what's the plan?” He asks, and Peter has to tamp down his emotions before it reveals just how much he feels at having to see such a young boy be such a grown-up. Derek had only been a year older, maybe, when things went to shit. 

Peter smiles his maniacal smile, and delves into the plans he had been formulating from the moment he woke up. They couldn't be too sure what will await them when they came here, so there wasn't a solid plan, just a guideline. 

Which is exactly what they do. They look up the date: _17 November, 2003_. The first thing on their timeline of disasters is Claudia Stilinski. 

When Deaton had been on his deathbed, ever cryptic, he'd told Scott that he was sorry and he never should have killed Stiles' mother. Of course, he died right after, and left all of them with a thousand questions, and left an angry and confused Stiles, who then moved heaven and hell tearing up everything the Vet owned for some clues. All he got were a lot of books and an unimaginable number of spells to alter memory. It wasn't hard to piece together everything. 

They never really knew when Deaton had done it, but Peter knows Claudia's death had been the same year as the fire. While the fire had taken place in January, Stiles' mother had died sometime in June. But she'd been diagnosed ‘sick,’ for over a year before that, and definitely unaware of her powers. Which meant that Deaton had been using low-level spells even before the final, fatal one to keep controlling the Nemeton. 

Peter decides dealing with the Vet and Claudia should be their first priority. Derek agrees. So in the timeline it went: _Claudia Stilinski, 2003_. 

“The Peace summit happened in January,” Derek supplies, and his voice holds no accusation. And yet. 

“I know it doesn't mean much now, but I'm sorry, nephew.” He couldn't look him in the eye. He couldn't. And Derek didn't force him to. He simply says, “She's alive,” and they go back to their disaster timeline chart. 

He takes a deep breath before saying, “The Argents. They move here in December, I think. Gerard keeps his name, but I remember meeting Chris as someone he's not,” He doesn't say how they met. There are some secrets he still hasn't shared with anyone. But from the way Derek looks at him and away, maybe he knows. Maybe they know. He huffs out a humourless laugh. “Just like his sister,” but Chris hadn't gone through it. He'd left. He'd _left_ , and he didn't even know what that had forced Peter to become. How that was when Peter had started to change. 

“When do they come?” Derek asks. Stay focused on the task, he hears behind the words. This isn't the time to get emotional. Not yet. 

“A week before Christmas,” he remembers that day vividly. 

Derek jots it down. “That gives us almost a whole month to deal with Deaton. But what do we do when he's gone? Absence of an Emissary is not something we can hide from,” he gulps, clearly uncomfortable after so long of disuse of that word, “mom.” Peter graciously doesn't mention the tears he can see in his eyes. 

“Claudia,” he says easily. This part, Lydia had insisted. Just before she'd decided her fate, she'd been adamant on this. 

Derek hesitates, unsure how Stiles would feel. Stiles knows of the dangers that lurk in their future, and for both him and his mother to keep lying to John will strain their relationship further. But this is the only way. His nephew understands; he nods, however reluctantly. 

“I'll never fall in love with Paige, and you won't manipulate me,” Peter flinches at that, “so Paige will never die. Then-” 

They continue on and on about their plans, almost on the verge of deciding Kate's fate, when Cora shouts from the other side of the door, “Homework's done, uncle!” and they have to stop, for now.

Derek excuses himself and lies easily to his father that he feels restless and so he's going out for a run. In truth, he's going to meet Stiles. It's been a good four hours; Peter is honestly surprised they lasted so long without each other. 

Peter, on the other hand, tries his best to act as if his family hasn't been dead for years and he's back from a War and hyper-aware. He succeeds, too. Almost. He avoids Talia when she comes back from wherever, which isn't unusual since it's known he isn't too fond of his oldest sister. Nathan tells him to wrangle the kids, and then leaves him in favour of calling Laura, who is most likely on a date with her secret boyfriend — Peter would have been aware of that little fact for almost two weeks, now, if he's to count in the current time rather than from his own time — and so she doesn't pick up the call. Peter wrangles in his guilt before calling James and Joey downstairs; Cora is already sitting on the table and chatting with Lauren. 

His only wish, as he wrestles the little, human, four-year-old Joey and his twin, James, laughs, is to be able to hear these beautiful voices for a long, long time. 

He's not going to let anything come between his wish and family. Nothing will come between them. _Nothing_. 


	3. Lies and more lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I am so happy that this is doing as good as it is. I'm really glad I finally started to put my daydreams into words.

When he wakes up, it's day. At least the sunlight coming from the windows suggests so. 

Waking up slowly, as to not disturb the body beside him on the couch, which he thinks is Scott if the mop of black hair in his mouth is anything to go by, he takes in the living room he's not been to in years. Not since his dad... 

No. He's alive. He's alive _now_ , and Stiles' focus should be to keep him alive, and not dwell on the future that never will be when he's done with his plan. 

He remembers the sad excuse of a life he's lived, but he also seems to be remembering long suppressed memories — or memories from today and yesterday, in the current time — which makes him realise he's home alone with Scott. They were watching movies and having lunch, but the couch was so comfortable and they had been awake the night before, playing games, talking about how Scott misses his mom because she's dealing with her divorces' legal side and hasn't spent enough time with him in over three days. The first time around, Stiles had been angry at Rafael, which in turn had made Scott resentful of his father. This time, he decides, he'll try to make his best friend see a better perspective; let Scott understand how things aren't always black and white. 

He's thankful that he's alone, well, Scott's a heavy sleeper so it's the same thing. Stiles can try and look for clues whether Deaton has started his rite to power yet by making his mother forget she has powers or not. It's not hard. 

Stiles remembers her mom drinking a special tea with very bad smell, not unlike Satomi's favourite tea, which her mother always said was given by a close friend. His dad had to know of Deaton somehow, right? Beacon Hills maybe a small town, but it doesn't mean they are all friends. Hell, the fucking people didn't even offer to help them even though they fucking _knew_ something supernatural was happening — not everyone knew, of course, but most did. Stiles' and the Pack's only comfort lied in the fact that none of them knew of the Hales' true nature; if they had, and done nothing whatsoever to help catch Kate, Stiles would have destroyed every single person. He would not have cared one bit. But as it is, they only suspected something like that, and were not actually aware of anything weird until Jackson's Kanima stunt. Seeing a big lizard is kind of memorable, as it turns out. 

The tea, he finds, is kept inside a drawer in the kitchen. He immediately identifies it as a powder which is used to lessen a person's inhibitions. This, when combined with a spell once a month, will ensure his mother forgetting she has powers if the spell is intended to do so — Stiles vaguely remembers that his mom has been drinking this since she came to this town almost a decade ago — He hadn't known why his mom was the only remaining member of her family, or why she didn't talk about them. Now, he knows that she didn't actually remember how hunters had killed her parents and brother; how she was the only one left because she'd been with her friends, sneaking into a party. 

Allowing Beacon Hills to turn into a Refuge Area and letting numerous strangers enter his hometown came with a fuckton worth of information, however much it hurt to hear. 

Stiles pockets all of the powder for future evidence (and also because his mom has no need to drink more of it), finds a notebook and pen to jot down his findings and the timeline of disasters they're going to face — it had been Peter's and Lydia's idea, to do so — and writes up until the Alpha Pack coming to town. 

The Alpha Pack will not be a problem if Deaucalian doesn't lose his eyes. But someone else can still find the truth about how killing your own betas gives an Alpha more power, and they can't let it happen again. The best course of action will be to keep an eye on all of them — Duke, Kali, Ennis, Ethan and Aiden — which cannot be that hard. Duke is a peaceful person, currently, and it is Gerard that turns him violent. Ennis is simply an angry man who turns angrier when hunters kill one of his betas; Kali joins him because she loves him and honestly, she's crazy. The twins, though, they did not have a choice. 

He wishes to save them, way before any of this comes to pass. Aiden had died because of him, and even though he never did consider the dude a friend, Ethan became close to him in a way he didn't know he needed. Stiles can see why Jackson loved him so much, how Ethan's reasonable and soft nature appealed to the pretty much off-the-rails and angry Jackson. 

Saving the twins becomes his priority. They'd be 9, now, and with what he knows of their lives before they joined the Alpha Pack, their lives was shit and just got worse when they hit their teenage years. Fucking raping kids — it wasn't enough that their mom conceived them in a similar manner, and died of fucking starvation and hydration — in their own pack, Stiles can really, really see the appeal of joining Duke and his merry band of killers. But Peter will have to look into that, being the actual adult. And maybe this time, he will get an actual reason to as to why Talia Hale made him forget about Malia. 

Their best guess was that she was trying to protect her Pack from the Desert Wolf. But they couldn't be sure; according to Derek, his mom and uncle had always been on odds. Only their other sibling could mediate between them, and that too took a lot of work. But why leave a literal child in the hands of unsuspecting humans? Sure, a couple got to be parents, but isn't their lives worth more? And fuck, Isaac. His mom would have recently died, his dad turning to alcohol in his grief. He doesn't know much of Derek's beta's life, except that his older brother left home to join the army the moment he hit 18, and died in combat two years into service. 

Then there's Boyd, who lost his sister Alyssa when he was only 8, forced to be a parent to his baby sister because his parents could do no more than simply bring them into this world. 

Theo got brainwashed and killed his sister when he was 9, and then got abducted and turned into a Chimera. 

Fuck. Their pack sure is made up of psychos and miserable sods. Not to mention the medical conditions of some of the others, from Scott's asthma, Erica's seizures, Liam's IED — not to say people can't live with them, but _oh man_ if their pack is diverse in not just species but mental and physical health, too. 

Rubbing his head — this answers the question that even little kids can get headaches — he keeps updating the DTC, planning on dealing with Deaton being his first priority. With his mom okay and herself, she'll be able to help them. Having someone other than just them might help cover their mistakes, which they so need. It doesn't matter that Stiles is 23, Derek is 30 and Peter is older than 40 (maybe), their lives have been one shit-show after another and living a potentially happy life is something they do not have any experience with. 

When Scott wakes up, Stiles hastily hides the papers. He magics them away back to his room, beneath his bed — oh God, he still has the race-car, doesn't he? Derek will so make fun of him — and tries acting like he just woke up, too. Scott is still sleepy, he doesn't really care for Stiles' acting, and simply heads for the cereal box. 

“We should wash our mouths,” he says, because ew. No eating with sleepy mouth. Kissing, yes. Eating? _Nope_. 

Scott stares at him like Stiles is an alien — which, buddy, he so hopes aren't real — and then back at the box in his hands, one hand holding it with the other trying to get a handful from inside it. 

“Why?” he asks, finally. Stiles makes up an excuse about how his mom said he needs to be more clean, and how he wants to make his mama proud, and Scott considers it, and nods. That part isn't a lie, at least. 

When they're done eating, Scott asks to play Ludo, but their moms come back then from their lunch — which is not exactly true, as Stiles can see the hastily put on make-up under Melissa's eyes to cover up the fact that she has been crying — and Scott is happy to go back home with his mom. Stiles' mom hugs him, and chats amiably with Scott. Stiles has to remind himself she doesn't remember yet, and has to act normally. His normal, at any rate. 

He thinks about Peter and Derek, how they must be feeling, with their whole family returned to them. It just hardens his resolve — this time 'round, only the bad guys will die. Or be neutralized, since not all of them were evil as much as the circumstances made them so. As much as he hates Monroe, he understands her fear. Her later choices bug him, but if she never learns of the Supernatural, nothing like that would ever happen in the first place. 

Once it's just his mom and him, he tries to gauge out the power of the spell. He sighs in relief when it's one of the low level ones, just as he'd expected — his mom gives him a weird look, but she doesn't say anything, instead going back to preparing dinner. Stiles watches her, and he can't believe that he had missed how awful she looks. Her skin is paler than normal, not by much, but enough to know that she's not exactly fine, her eyes are a little less filled with life and mischief, dulled like Stiles' gets when he's losing blood — and doesn't that happen often? — He's not sure whether it's because she's actually down with something, because of Deaton, or just because she's tired taking care of her friend while also looking after two rambunctious kids. 

When his mom looks at him with a small frown, Stiles realises he hasn't said a single word the whole time. “Are you okay, Mischief?” He almost cries at being called that again, by her, but he manages somehow, thoughts of a better future with alive friends and family prominent in his mind. 

“Yes, mommy!” He tries for the false cheer, and it tips his mother off that something is wrong, making her come over to him by the dining table and put her hand on his forehead. So he maybe does get delirious when he has fever, he should start believing that Isaac is not always pulling his leg. Huh. Nice to know. “Are you okay? You look sick,” he tries to remove the hear from himself. She cannot know, not yet.

His mom's frown turns deeper, and she sighs. “Just tired,” she rakes her hand through his hair, then moved back towards the stove. “Ms. Melissa needs my help, and between her and home and work I think I've neglected sleep.” 

This is another reason his mom is awesome. She always tells the truth, no matter what. She doesn't care about his age in that regard, ready to point out to everyone who listens how smart her son is and it's not very effective to coddle your child. They do deserve the truth, at least a little when the whole cannot be told. 

Stiles hums and tries talking to her. After these many years, he's not sure he'd be able to slip back into the routine of simply talking about everything that comes to mind — mostly it's how he misses his Pack, his dad. How stabbing a person's abdomen will pain them, but still give time to be interrogated. And shit like that, because he is a fucked up guy now — but he finds he doesn't have to try to attempt for long, because someone rings the doorbell. Stiles' magic hums inside his skin, and he knows who it is. 

He stops mid-sentence at how much he loves Pac-Man and how he also kind of feels sorry for the ghosts, yelling, “Coming!” for his mom's benefit. 

His mom can see the door from her position, so Stiles has to stop himself from hugging and latching on to the wolf, who grins widely when he sees him. “Who is it?” his mom asks, and he hates lying to her, but he has to. 

“Mom, did I ever tell you about Mr. Peter?” Cora is the same age as him, but he knows she didn't attend public school in Beacon Hills. So he can't say he knows her, but he can lie. For now. “He helped me get the cookies from the top-shelf yesterday when he was there with Derek. This is Derek,” it was Mr. Smith who had helped him with the cookies, according to his memory, but how else is he supposed to justify this sudden visit? 

Stiles gestures for his boyfriend to come in, suddenly feeling awkward with his body. He's an adorable kid, he knows, but Derek is a teenager and still hot. Different hot, and shit, does it make him a pedo to think a fourteen-year-old is hot? He hopes not, he's had sex with this guy more than once. And oh shit, will Derek be remembering _their_ sexy times while masturbating? Stiles feels cheated on; he won't be able to do any of those things for a couple years! Fuck biology, honestly.

Derek gives him a look, obviously trying to place the myriad of scents he must be giving off, but moves forward towards the kitchen to greet his mom. 

A warm feeling settles in his chest. He never knew he needed this until now, but he can't deny the smile his face breaks into and the stuttering of his heart. Maybe in afterlife, if that was a thing, he would have introduced the love of his life to his mom, but looking at them both now, realising that he could grow up with his mom and Derek, could see them accept each other as family, he feels contentment wash over him. He really didn't know he needed this, but now he does and his determination to keep everyone safe is just increasing, past levels he didn't know he had. 

He's learning many new things, it seems.

“May I ask why are you here, Derek?” 

“Oh, um,” Stiles prays he lies convincingly. He may be ruthless, sure, and awesome at killing, but when it comes to lying, Derek is painfully a good kid. “My sister, Cora, is Stiles' age, actually. She's homeschooled, but we needed to know what is being taught in school to continue with her maths. She says it's too hard for her, and the syllabus has changed recently, so.” He shrugs, acting perfectly. Stiles would like to hug him. 

He does. Derek and his mom both look surprised, but for different reasons. “He is my friend, he's very funny,” he tells her, and Derek relaxes. He still doesn't wanna lie, the bastard. It's been years and Stiles still doesn't how he could have fallen for such a man. Wolf, whatever. 

His mom chuckles, and tells Stiles to go bring his notebook. “I'm sorry for his handwriting,” she tells him, and Derek smiles, obviously plotting to set him up with his surprisingly good humour. Dry humour, but humour nonetheless. The guy is funny. He didn't lie about that. “It's like chicken scratch,” she adds, and Derek howls with laughter. Stiles deliberately stomps his way back with the notebook. Neither of them pay him attention, enjoying their gang-up on poor little him.

“No worries, I've dealt with worse,” Derek says, and he grins wolfishly, all teeth, when his mom looks away. Stiles suppresses a grin at the familiar look in a world that is his and not his. 

His mom continues making dinner, while the boys try sneaking to Stiles' room. For discussing their plans, nothing else. But Claudia Stilinski is one hell of a woman, and can keep her eyes on what's in front of her and behind her back. Stiles thinks it's because of magic, that gut feeling — which, his mom had plenty of. How did he not know she was infact something supernatural before he was startled into the revelation? — and also because, well. _Stiles_ is her son, and there's always trouble where he is concerned. 

Derek is simultaneously impressed and annoyed. Thank God his brows came back with him, otherwise it would have been weird and honestly, Stiles would have talked the Nemeton into submitting into listening to him. 

He shakes his head when he hears a giggling sound, a familiar voice, but doesn't dwell on it when his dad enters the home. Derek had gotten close to the man in the time they spent together, and despite not being together at the time, his dad had considered Derek as his own. Stiles has to physically and subtly push his boyfriend down back into his seat before he jumps up and hugs his father after years. 

He'd never thought anyone but Peter could come back from death, but his dad is here and alive and _breathing_ , and his throat isn't slit open, blood pouring out long after his pulse has gone; his hair is its normal brown color and not sticky and bloody, his chest is moving up and down with life and not gashed open with his organs showing, making Stiles choke on his own tears and sending him into a well overdue panic attack. 

“Kiddo, you okay?” his dad asks, and he realises he's been hanging on to him too long. He nods, glad that tears didn't start falling from his eyes, and jumps into an explanation of how and why Derek is here, sure in the knowledge that kid!Stiles would do the same. 

His dad doesn't look convinced, but for now he indulges and greets Derek, who is shy all of a sudden and resolutely keeping his gaze away from his dad's neck and chest. 

“Will you be staying for dinner? I've made extra,” his mom declares when his dad goes off to shower and change, leaving the three of them in the kitchen. 

Derek looks at Stiles, his eyebrows talking to Stiles as they have for years, and he knows they will have to do this somewhere else. A park, maybe. “Thank you, Ms. Claudia. But I should get going, my family would be waiting for me.” 

His mom nods, smiling and telling him he's a sweet kid and to tell his parents they should be proud of him. Derek smiles, but it's tight. Stiles can see that he's not fully given up his guilt, but he's getting there. He'll have to give his dumb love another speech, perhaps. Or let him kill Kate this time — though she hasn't yet commited the crime, so should they? It's a moral question, and honestly, Stiles lost his moral long before he lost his Scott.

Scott. He met his best friend again. Not the same man he knew, but the same soul nonetheless, and this time maybe Stiles will be able to make Scotty realise sooner rather than later how much of a fuck-up the world is; that not killing doesn't mean you're good. Mostly it means you're weak, and while it is true for dystopian world, Stiles grimly thinks didn't that come out to be because of the choices made in a normal world? 

He lets these thoughts wash away as he listens to his parents talk and crack jokes and be in love and just, just _be_. This isn't the time to remember all that, there's lots of days left for that if he has any say in it. All he wants to do is remember all of this — before he has to let his mother relive her worst years before she fled here and let his dad in on the biggest secret of his life. 

He's definitely not looking forward to that. But then again, he kind of is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know how you're liking it so far :) Also, I wanna hear what's your moral stand in this? Spoilers: I think prevention is better than cure. Cut the weeds, so to speak, before they start stealing the nutrients from other plants.


	4. Sleep.

Sleep comes to him easily. But, he doesn't stay asleep. He can't, actually; he's used to another warm body pressed against his, used to running his hands through the uncharacteristically rough hair of Lydia, used to little snores that Peter swears he doesn't do. 

He does. He totally does, and Stiles is now spoiled because of it. And Derek. Lydia is a whole another thing. 

He gets up from his soft but ridiculous car bed and sighs, wondering when exactly his life became like this. He doesn't ponder much; there are too many things he'd rather not think about. He shakes his head, dispelling the unwanted images, of his dying pack members, of blood and death, and opens his bedroom door to stand silently in the passageway. His room doesn't have a clock, he used to not fall asleep counting down the seconds so his dad made the executive decision of moving his room's clock out in the passageway. 

It's two in the morning. Awesome. At least he got to sleep for five hours — his usual bedtime is eight, but his little nap and his desire to spend time with his parents had won out and he'd gone to bed after nine — which is more than enough for him to function for three days, at least. He's speaking from personal experience, unfortunately.

He checks on his parents, who are sleeping peacefully. Stiles smiles, his heart warming looking at the scene. But because he's still _Stiles_ , the boy who runs with wolves and has encountered unseen horrors, his thoughts turn dark and he relives, vividly, the days after his mother's death. 

The alcohol, the silence. The grief, the big hole in his chest he'd had no idea how to fill except by talking non-stop, trying to act fine and having to grow up early, all because of fucking- 

_Dr. Alan Deaton._ He will die. He will die a painful, horrible death — what did he always talk about? Balance. Well, fuck his balance. Whether that was true or not, his BS about this and that and balance, Stiles is going to tell him exactly what his actions led to and then kill him. 

Kill him in a way that will warn everyone who will try to mess with Stiles and his family. His Pack. 

**•••**

He couldn't sleep. 

Derek kept twisting and turning in his bed, trying to find a position which will let him get some sleep, even if for an hour or so. He didn't succeed — he missed Stiles. He missed Lydia, and he even missed Peter, who is just down the hall, and doesn't that just sum up how beautiful his life is? — and finally, gave up around midnight. 

He listened intently to see if anyone else was awake. Even though they could soundproof their rooms, their wolves didn't like not being able to hear the heartbeats of its Pack, and so his mom had stipulated an open door policy. It helped him now, making him aware that Peter is awake still. Probably for the same reasons. 

As a kid, Derek had been driven by his human side more, unlike most of his family. He wasn't the biggest cuddler, or big on physical affection other than on full moons. But after losing everyone, he'd realised how much he craved touch. With Laura, he didn't allow himself to seek it, though — guilt wrecked his very soul, and he's a glutton for self-inflected punishment — and after everything, with Monroe and the bloody wipe-out of the world, with only a few of his Pack, he started craving touch more and more. And the others did too. Even Lydia and Stiles, who aren't wolves. Being close like that made them all believe nothing could harm them, at least not while they're together, in arms' reach, breathing, snoring, complaining. He smiled at the way Lydia and Malia would let their hair fall on the boys' mouth just to tease them. 

Focusing on the present, he reached his uncle's room and gestured for him to meet him downstairs. Peter nodded and got up, already dressed. Of course he knew this was inevitable. 

Derek was still in his sweats and shirtless, and he checked if anyone was downstairs. He couldn't hear anyone; he shrugged on the shirt Peter tossed him and they both walked out of the house as stealthily as possible. They'd had a lot of practice over the years to make as less noise as possible, and to hide their scents. Monroe might have started her agenda to clear out the supernatural, but you fight fire with fire and she wasn't stupid. 

When they were sufficiently out of ear-shot of even an Alpha, Peter ended the silence. “I assume you will go to his house,” Derek nodded, confused. They were both headed there, weren't they? He still couldn't read his uncle properly, sometimes. “Remember. His mother doesn't know yet,”

“I know. But she will when it wears off or we kill Deaton,” he was leaning towards killing the druid. He'd been nothing but unhelpful at best, except for the Nogitsune… although, Deaton had been gunning for Scott to just bite Stiles, which could have potentially killed his love. He growled a sub-vocal subconscious warning at the thought. Peter chuckled. 

“I'm leaning more towards killing, if you don't mind, Nephew.” Peter echoed his thoughts. They were walking at a leisurely pace through the Preserve, away from possible prying eyes. Stiles' house was only a thirty minute walk.

Derek bared his mouth in an evil grin. Or his hot smirk, as Stiles calls it. “Aren't you coming to Stiles'?” 

Peter bared his own teeth. “Have to scope out the threat, Derek. You should know that,” he tutted, but Derek was used to this side of Peter. Didn't mean he was sure he could read him, but this side was easier to. Smarmy and superior-y, but actually he's nervous and thinking something. Overthinking, rather — Derek is sure his boyfriend and uncle bonded on this alone. And sarcasm. They're nothing if not sarcastic as all hell.

They walked in silence all the way till Peter had to take the other direction to scope out the clinic. They hugged before parting — this was never not gonna be weird for him — and then Derek took off towards the house he'd once called his own. 

It took him less than ten minutes to reach there. He inhaled Stiles' scent, which was all over the street. He knew it wasn't his Stiles' scent, but the actual kid's, because Stiles definitely would not have stepped out till now. He must be relishing the time with his parents. 

He ho-hummed about just jumping on the roof and staying there, but then he focused on his boyfriend's heart, which was thumping in the soothing manner which he's rarely heard in all the time he's known Stiles. In a way that told Derek Stiles actually felt at peace. He couldn't wake him up; Stiles' magic would thrum and wake him up if Derek got too close, so he stayed put just in range to keep an eye on him. 

Old habits die hard. 

He fell asleep like that, the rabbity beat of Stiles' heart a constant soothing to his wolf, his scent of freshly cut grass and the ozone of magic like a balm — Derek had missed this pure scent of his love, tainted by blood and gun and wolfsbane and whatnot when they all were on the run — and only woke up when a heavy weight settled by his side on the ground, legs touching. The other wolf inhaled heavily. 

They were Pack. The three of them. 

“Hmm?” he asked, forcing himself awake. 

“Deaton was at the clinic. Got called for an emergency, a cat ate a sex toy.” Peter answered in a mildly amused tone. “Sleep, nephew. I'll keep watch,” Derek nodded, drifting off again. 

His eyes snapped open immediately though when he sensed the change in Stiles' heartbeat, telling him he's awake. The two of them made their way towards the roof, Peter looking positively delighted at the turns of events. Deaton was at the clinic, the three of them were awake, why not do it right now? Derek was sure he looked the same. 

Stiles' scent, filled with sorrow and anger, wafted towards his nose and he knew this was it. 

Tonight, they were going to trade their sleep for Dr. Alan Deaton's. 

**•••**

Meeting with Derek through the window brought back happy memories. His anger lessened, and he lunged at his boyfriend, nuzzling into him, who reciprocated enthusiastically. 

Out of the corner of the eye, Stiles could see Peter smiling, and when they caught each other's eye Stiles held a hand out, a silent invitation to join. Peter accepted, and Stiles felt almost complete again. He'd never thought Peter would bring about such an emotion to him, but then, he'd never really thought he'd travel back in time to save billions of people from dying. Stranger things have happened.

_Literally_. 

After sufficient hugging and nuzzling, Stiles brought the attention back to their task: Save the fucking world from becoming a Dystopian World.

“So, Deaton. When are we dealing with him?” Stiles had already sound-proofed his room, just in case things got heated. It will, he just knew it. Probably from him. Even right now, he was barely controlling the urge to scream and shout and fucking cry. Deaton's name was like a live reminder that his mother didn't have to die, she didn't. It was just a fucking powerplay that got her killed, her literal existence got her killed. Like his Pack. Like fucking everyone in the world. 

Derek pulled him back towards his chest, running soothing hands up and down his arms. They were sitting on Stiles' bed; it barely fit them both. Peter sat on the bean-bag, having brought it as close to them as possible, in touching distance. Derek, as he'd expected, had made a face at Stiles' bed — which he didn't even choose! Not current Stiles anyways — but he didn't tease him verbally. Yet. But with Derek it's kind of the same thing. 

He knew the two of them saw Stiles as their Alpha, at least until Derek achieved his goal of becoming a True Alpha. Stiles had taken reigns after Scott had died two years back, and their remaining Pack had acknowledged him as their Alpha. Stiles had been floored at first because of the title, but when he'd realised he just had to keep doing what he was already doing, and what effects it had on his packmates — namely, an Alpha's presence is calming, soothing, to their betas — he'd taken the change in role in stride. The only true change was the title, honestly. Everything else remained the same. 

A part of him believed that Lydia should have taken the role, but that was just a tiny part. He'd not want her to have the same conscience as him of being responsible for killing off the remaining of their friends. 

Peter gave him his most evil grin. “Right now, if you're up for it,” 

“Don't play with my emotions like that, dear uncle, it's not nice.” 

“We're not,” Derek assured, his breath ghosting on Stiles' neck. “He's at the clinic. But are we sure that killing him will reverse the spell?” 

“I really hope it will, my claws are just itching to kill. And even if not, what do we have a Stiles for?” Peter flexed out his claws as he said so, and Derek and he both rolled their eyes. 

“I'm sure. And I'm also sure this is my kill,” he hoped his voice came out hard and cold, though he realised his kiddie voice couldn't do so. Ugh. You lose some you win some, right. So lame. He just really wanted his own voice and body back. With the appropriate bodily reactions for good measure. And time. 

“Of course,” Peter nodded, satisfied. 

“Just let us torture him a little first. I want to revenge the many headaches he's given us all these years,” Derek added. And his voice did the cold and hard thing, not entirely unlike the voice Stiles is used to from his dear Sourwolf.

Seriously. This was unfair. 

**•••**

Alan was exhausted. 

He'd been sleeping in his bed, exhausted from the day's work, not to mention the conversation with Talia. Using spells to keep Alpha Hale from picking up his lies and emotions takes a lot out of him, and even after all these years he has not adjusted to how much it takes. Perhaps keeping up the spell on Claudia is taking its toll. 

He'd just packed up his equipments — He's not sure Ms. Cheryl will ever listen to him to keep the door locked during, er, activities — when he feels the protective barriers around his clinic go down. His magic shudders into a ball inside its cage, and he has to pull it back out to check with his magic who is there. 

He doesn't have to, though. The intruder speaks up, and a sudden chill go through his spine at the hostility filled voice. Why isn't his magic working? He checks inside the cage again, only to find a thick, purple line of sparks disappearing with his magic. 

“Alan Deaton, the Power Hungry Druid,” he turns, only to find Peter and Derek Hale flanking a small kid, someone who looks just like a mini version of Claudia. It's Peter who speaks; but his attention isn't on the werewolf who looks like he's going to kill him right now. 

“This isn't possible,” Alan shakes his head. This kid — Mischief, his mind supplies — his powers, it isn't possible. He knows the kid is a Spark, but to reach this level of power will take decades upon decades, and he is what, six, maybe seven? Nobody is born with so much power. Hell, even though Sparks are rare, everyone knows they start to come into their powers after they hit puberty. And to reach this level of power, it's impossible without a cause. 

“Cryptic as ever, doc, why am I not surprised.” Mischief mutters, and Derek snorts. Alan notices something is wrong about the teenager; his eyes look old, filled with pain and grief alongwith a raging hatred, fiery look aimed at him. Peter's look the same, though he's smirking. 

He's disoriented. His powers are gone, taken from him — even his own — and he blames it on that for his next words. “You are not supposed to be this strong, I've made sure Clauds can't teach you,” 

Derek growls threateningly, takes a step forward, flashes his eyes and pulls his claws out. Deaton distantly thinks the teen cannot have that level of control, not yet, while he watches Peter Hale's face contort into his most menacing one — he stumbles back at the intensity of it. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, and his attention shifts to the kid, whose eyes are glowing purple. He gulps, moving backwards, but a blur forms in his vision and suddenly, his hands are being held behind his back by the oldest wolf here. His throat feels tight, as does his legs, as if they've been tied. Peter drops his hands, and they too feel as if tied by a particularly strong rope. He knows Stiles is doing it, and he can't help but be in awe at how little effect it seems to have on the kid. A really scary kid. If it had been him performing it, he'd be a panting mess, even after all these years. After almost hundred years. 

Derek stands behind Stiles in a protective stance, a wolf protecting its mate. A theory starts forming in his head, and even though it is decidedly not possible, what's happening right now is also in no way in the realm of reality. He doesn't voice it, though. Especially because he doesn't want to interrupt Stiles Stilinski, the strongest Caster he's seen in his very long life. 

“So. Doc. My dad has an early morning shift, he'll be awake soon, you know? He's a Deputy, as you well know,” Stiles' gaze threatens him more right now than even Talia's has done, ever, and he knows she's scarier than her mother Beatrice used to be. “Tell me. Why have you been playing with my mom's memories?”

The binding on his throat loosens, making it easier to breathe; he gulps in air greedily. The fog in his brain has mostly dissipated now that he has a working theory, making him choose his words carefully. He knows he can't lie, exactly, but he hasn't been around werewolves for decades and learnt nothing. “I am the Emissary of the Hale Pack. It's my duty to remove threats from their territory,”

The three of them laugh harshly at that. “Right,” Stiles mutters, while Derek sneers. He can't see Peter, the older wolf is still behind him. “Of course you'd be a fucking good liar. Oh, I am sorry, that wasn't even a fucking lie, just a statement that's supposedly true enough.” 

“And it'd work too. With the scent-free spell you do, you even had me fooled,” Peter muses. He sounds.. Impressed? Sad? Both, somehow. As if Alan's actions have brought him grief. Which could be possible, if they really are from the future. 

It seemed as if only Stiles and Peter were the ones to keep talking. Derek kept quiet, and his hard eyes never left him, jaw set with determination. 

Stiles started muttering a spell in perfect Greek, which snapped his attention towards him from his thoughts, how the two in front of him stood in the same way Deaton has seen his brother stand after he'd come back from War, on edge at all times as if preparing for an ambush. As if they they have been through wars of their own. What could he have done to create a future like that?

He understood the few words. “No!” he shouted, scared. The spell that was being attempted, if done properly, could snatch away his remaining magic — His own and the ones he's gathered —as well as his memories. Stiles didn't stop, though. Deaton could feel and see the grey tendrils leaving his body, followed by seven more — they were all different colors, blue, green, yellow, pink... Just a bit dulled from before, before he'd taken them from their owners — and he wanted to know which action of his warranted such a justice. To not kill him, but take away his magic, something that makes him _him_. “Why are you doing this?” Memories, he can understand. It's a strategic move. If they know him enough to deem him a threat, they obviously won't believe his words. And they're in a hurry, it seems. 

Derek growls, and Stiles does not reply, his sole focus on the spell. But Peter, he runs his claws along his spine, making him shiver. 

“Tell me, how does it makes you feel to know that you are responsible for the demise of the entirety of the Hale Pack?” 

His heart races at the thought. “That... I've... My actions have no such consequences!”

“Oh it does. Where do I start? Oh yes, from our dear Clauds.” Peter hums, slashes Deaton's left wrist with his claws, “You killed her. Which in turn made Stiles unaware of his true heritage, and of the Supernatural world, until of course I came into the picture,”

Deaton felt weak. The binds on him fell away, and he stumbled down to the cold floor of his clinic, hissing at the cool touch of it. Derek grabbed his right wrist, cut it in the same manner as his uncle, and let him fall down, hard. Blood, warm and _his_ , poured over everywhere, and he was only aware of the pain and the fact that he was most definitely going to die. He also caught some words, here and there, of how Deaton's cryptic ass and nefarious agendas caused way too many casualties. He thought he heard Stiles fearfully mentioning the Nogitsune, and that is when the world came back to him. Stiles had finished off with the spell, so he had all the information he needed, now. But still he was alive. Why?

“-sacrificed me, opened a gate and let it in me. You _knew_ of my powers, and yet you unleashed that demon on the world. Why, Deaton?” Stiles was asking. 

This would be his last night on Earth. His magic was gone, he was going to die. And these men were from the future. So he did his best to guess why his future-self did what he apparently did. 

“You must be someone I was threatened by. I could not risk you coming between my plans,” 

“And so you'd let people die? Innocent people, humans? And you call me a psycho,” Peter sounded as if he was actually offended. Through his pain filled agony, Deaton thought he must be losing his mind. 

“You are,” Derek replies. Then he slashed his knees, both, at once. He keened over, clutched his legs, and cried. 

“This is for my Pack,” the three men — because they were _men,_ whatever they appeared to be like be damned — said as one. 

“I can't bear to see you alive anymore, God,” Stiles whispered, and before Deaton's world went black, before he felt a rope choking him, felt blood pouring down from a dozen gashes on his body, simultaneously, because of claws, he heard these words from a kid's mouth who has definitely grown up too early, before his time, and he could not help but think it was his own fault. 

It definitely was. 

“Sleep, Deaton. You've done enough for this world, you've killed enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Uh, more mentions of blood. Not exactly violence, (not much! I think. I've been binge-watching too many violence shows, so).   
> Casters are a term I am using as an umbrella term for everyone with magic. Witches, Druids, Sparks, Sorcerers. Whatever, if they have magic, they are in this term.   
> Nothing else, I think! You're awesome for reading this btw <3 It is a mess, and I just. I appreciate each one of you for sticking with me. Thank you!!!


End file.
